


Glorious Song of Old

by Blue_Five



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christian holiday, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merry Christmas to my dear Annie.  Love ya, babe!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glorious Song of Old

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Annie_Is_A_Contranym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie_Is_A_Contranym/gifts).



**December 21**

Stiles lay curled next to Derek in the loft, listening to the snow blow against the windows.  Thanks to Derek’s uber-hot body temp, Stiles was perfectly comfortable under the single sheet.  He listened to the strong heart beating in the broad chest he couldn’t believe his head was pillowed against.  Derek tightened his arm around Stiles making the young man raise his head.

“What’s up, O Serious One?”

“Can’t believe you’re here, like this,” Derek said softly.  “Wanted this for so long and I never thought it would actually happen.”

Stiles grinned.  “Ditto.”

Derek chuckled.  Stiles could annoy the hell out of him some days but it was exactly that irrepressible spirit that had made him look twice at the young man.  At first, it was only as an irritating younger brother-type.  Then it began to be more in Derek’s mind.  Stiles’ was handsome and Derek had spent long nights alone mentally mapping every mole on the (then) kid’s body, but it was the fire behind his beautiful amber eyes that had finally caught and held the werewolf’s heart.  In Stiles, he saw more of a wolf spirit than in any of his pack -- and Stiles was the one person who didn’t want to be changed.  It saddened Derek but he wasn’t about to let it get in the way of their relationship.  He’d played good wolf for too long to bother with something like that. 

Stiles was half-convinced he was dreaming.  He’d pined for Derek Hale for so long … it couldn’t be real.  He’d just spent a long cold day wrapped around the werewolf that had graced every ‘personal moment’ since the day he’d seen the man in the woods with Scott that first day.  The hazel-green eyes that had glared furiously at him on more than one occasion had been looking at him with a distinctly less than annoyed gaze.  If he had to name the emotion, he figured pure lust would do for now.  Later it had morphed into something softer … something Stiles really didn’t want to examine too closely in case it evaporated under scrutiny.  He was still peeved that Derek had simply been waiting until Stiles turned 18.  Not a hint, not a clue that Derek had been as head over for Stiles as the young man was for the werewolf ... it was still annoying when he thought about it and he blew out a frustrated sigh.

"Stiles," Derek muttered sleepily. "How long are you going to pout about that?"

Stiles rose up and frowned at Derek.  "Dude.  Two _years_! Two fucking years!  Actually, there was _no_ fucking during those two years … we spent two years definitely _not_ fucking because you and your wolfie honor wouldn’t tell me how you felt."

Derek sighed and pulled Stiles across him.  The young man stretched out along his body.  Crossing his arms, Stiles rested his chin on Derek's chest.  Derek ran his hand through the tousled mop Stiles had grown out finally.  He looked at the whiskey-colored eyes that had startled him one day when he realized they were looking at him with something very close to love.  Something Derek didn’t want to delve too deeply into yet for fear it would blow away with the wind howling outside.

"Stiles, it wasn’t right … you were sixteen when we met.  I was twenty-three … not too many people, your father primarily, were going to look favorably on that relationship.  Humans have a hard enough time with relationships but an adult guy and a teenage boy?  Wasn’t really looking to be labeled a pedophile.  I don’t even know if that would have been ok within the werewolf community,” Derek explained.  “I wanted you to have a chance to find someone your own age … werewolf or otherwise.”

"Not much chance of that," Stiles said softly.  "Lydia picked Jackson and she’s the only other person I’ve ever really wanted."

"Erica liked you ...,” Derek said, breaking off when he saw the look on Stiles face.  "What?"

"Do you regret this?" Stiles asked, his voice suddenly sounding young.

Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.  “No.  I don’t regret any of it other than I had to wait to be with you … I was trying to do the right thing but I don’t think I would have been very … understanding … of you being in a relationship with anyone else.  I was actually glad that no one _saw_ you the way I did … and I kind of prayed it would stay that way until you were old enough.”

“Thanks for the dry spell, dude,” Stiles teased.

Derek didn't say anything else and Stiles didn't push it.  He was just glad they were together ... now was not the time to insist on more.  Especially when he could feel Derek's obvious erection pressing against his thigh.

"Really, sourwolf?  You're gonna wear me out!"

"Well," Derek said, pulling Stiles up to plant soft kisses along his neck and throat.  " _Someone_ mentioned my neglect for the past two years ... I have a lot to make up for."

Stiles couldn't argue with that logic.

* * *

**December 22**

Stiles turned when he heard Derek enter the loft.  He grinned at the stunned expression on the werewolf's face.

"Whaddya think?  Tre festive, no?"

Derek's shock quickly turned into annoyance.  "Stiles, I've told you every year since we met that I don't do Christmas."

"Yeah and I ignore you every year ... this year I wanted to do more than cool scarves and earmuffs.  You know, in honor of our finally hooking up."

Derek sighed.  Every gift Stiles had ever given him was packed in a box in his closet.  One was a garish scarf worn by someone called "The Doctor".  Earmuffs with tiny wolf heads had been last year's surprise.  Now his loft was awash in lights, garlands with lights, a tree covered in more lights than was probably safe, and various scattered decorations that all lit up.  His dining room table had suddenly become home to an ice skating scene where tiny figures moved around a mirror ice pond … with more lights bordering it.

Derek, irritated, went into the kitchen to put away what he’d bought for dinner.  He was less than happy to see that a green waffle towel had replaced his plain, ordinary kitchen towel with little red bows cross-stitched along the border.  He could smell something baking.  Christmas cookies, no doubt.

Derek wanted to be glad that Stiles cared enough to decorate for him … he wanted to enjoy the lights and other knick-knacks even though they made his eyes hurt … mostly he wanted to keep seeing the smile that lit up Stiles’ face while he babbled on about the idea of making the loft “holiday-ish” for the pack.  He wanted to … but all it did was remind him of another house decorated in lights and shiny ornaments and a tree covered in candy canes (his personal favorite).  A house that was gone along with everyone who’d shared all those holidays with him.

He groaned at the pillowcases and wondered exactly where Stiles drew the line on ‘too much’.  Having sex while Rudolph and friends were underneath him seemed wrong, somehow.  When he reached the bathroom, however, Derek finally lost his control.  Stiles was downstairs, pulling cookies out of the oven when he heard a roar upstairs and then the tree took a direct hit from whatever Derek threw to the main floor.  Stiles watched as glass ornaments shattered and the tree did a slow motion topple, pulling light cords from the wall with a spray of sparks.  Stiles walked out onto the floor, his mouth and eyes both wide.

“What the hell, dude?”

“What the hell?  I’ll tell you what the hell, Stiles!  I don’t _do_ Christmas … I don’t decorate, I don’t badly wrap stupid-ass gifts, I don’t bake cookies, I don’t put up fucking ugly trees … I _Don’t Do Christmas_!” Derek roared, tossing the sheets and bedding over the edge of the bed platform.  “I think I’ve been pretty fucking clear on that and yet you can’t seem to get it through your Adderall-doped brain!  And, by the way, I _hate_ scented candles!”

Stiles stood, frozen to the spot as Derek leapt over the railing of the platform to the floor below.  His rant done, Derek took in the shell-shocked expression on Stiles’ face and watched as it morphed from shock to hurt to anger in the blink of an eye.  He braced himself for a storm, but a soft whisper blew him over.

“Fuck. You.”

Stiles stalked out of the loft, taking time only to jerk the cord out of the wall on the ice skating display.  The pond went flying to crash against the floor behind his departing back.  Derek heard the Jeep engine and the squeal of tires as Stiles left.

* * *

Stiles slammed the door to his Jeep and peeled away from Derek’s loft.  He wasn’t going to cry.  He wasn’t.  He was going to go home and delete Derek Hale from his contacts and – and then what?  Forget he knew the alpha of the only werewolf pack in town?  Forget that his best friend was part of that pack?  Ignore the way he’d felt for the past two years?

“Stupid sourwolf … wish I’d never met you,” Stiles said brokenly as his vision suddenly blurred.

Stiles had a vague realization that he’d just run a red light when the truck hit him broadside.

* * *

Derek sat in his loft looking at the devastation he’d wrought.  He groaned.

“Merry Fucking Christmas,” Derek mumbled. 

He moved slowly around the loft, picking up the remains of the tree and the decorations.  He found the broken pieces of the stupid cinnamon spice candle that had started the entire fiasco.  He generally hated scented candles because of his enhanced sense of smell.  They were often too strong and overwhelming.  He’d barely been able to muffle the sneezing fit that struck him and it had just sent his temper over the edge.  Gathering the candle remnants up, he dropped them in the trash and wondered if he’d just destroyed probably the best thing ever in his life since the fire that had taken his family.  All because of a dollar scented candle and his own stupid hang-up over the holiday.  He didn’t look up when the loft door opened and he wasn’t expecting Scott to jerk him to his feet from the chair he’d slumped into.

“Don’t you ever answer your phone?!” Scott yelled.

Derek pushed him off.  “What the hell are you talking about?”  Then Derek noticed Scott’s expression.  The young beta was given to emotional outbursts be it anger, sadness or joy … right now, it was closer to – grief?  “What’s happened?”

“It’s Stiles –“

* * *

Derek forced himself to walk down the hospital corridor.  He could only imagine what his face looked like judging from the expressions of people he passed.  For all he knew, he’d shifted and they were looking at his beta form, muzzle, fangs and all.  Derek didn’t care.  He had only one thing on his mind – Stiles.

Scott had stammered out the details while Derek drove to the hospital.  A truck had t-boned the Jeep when Stiles ran a red light – they’d had to cut the young man out of the vehicle.  Now, standing outside the room, he couldn’t find anything that looked like Stiles amidst all the tubes and wires.  The beeping of the machines seemed so loud.  He couldn’t find Stiles’ scent.  Derek stumbled back, turned and ran.  He didn’t hear the voices calling after him.

Later that night, figures emerged from the woods to find Derek huddled on the bottom step of his old house porch.  Derek’s scent screamed of grief and pain but he was silent and motionless.  Scott sat next to him and leaned hard against the werewolf.  He didn’t say anything.  Jackson and Isaac pressed against Derek from the other side.  No one spoke.  Erica and Boyd crept in and joined the others at Derek’s back.  His pack – the pack he took for granted and perhaps didn’t give enough of himself to … the pack that was now exhibiting all the traits of wolves who knew where they belonged.  Where the pack was, that was home … that was safety, love, and knowing you weren’t alone in the world.  Peter crouched in front of Derek and met his nephew’s eyes.

“I miss them too, Derek,” He said softly.

For the first time in a long while, Derek Hale cried.  His pack surrounded him and grieved with him.  People in Beacon Hills wondered at the mournful wolf cries that drifted through the cold winter night.

* * *

**December 23**

Derek went to the hospital the next morning.  Stiles’ father, Sheriff Stilinski, jerked awake in what had to be a very uncomfortable chair and looked at Derek.

Derek swallowed hard.  “I’m not leaving until he wakes up.”

John regarded the young man for a moment.  “Do you love him or is this just out of guilt for whatever fight you two had?”

“Sir?”

“Stiles is the safest driver I know even _with_ ADHD … he worries about leaving me alone so he doesn’t take risks – well, with driving anyway.  If he ran that light, he was distracted … and _you_ were whom he was going to be with.  Kid couldn’t even see over the armload of Christmas crap he was carrying,” John said.  “So … did you two fight?”

Derek nodded.  “It was my fault.”

“No fight is ever all one or the other, Derek … but Stiles fell for you and he fell hard.  It might blind him to things other people would see – like how little you enjoy the holiday.  I have no doubt losing your family had something to do with that?”

Derek was beginning to think they weren’t paying the sheriff of Beacon Hills _nearly_ enough.  “Yes.  I just … it reminds me of them.  It … hurts.”

John nodded.  “Losing my wife left me the same way.  Stiles … he wouldn’t let me stay that way.  He just said we were going to start new traditions along with the ones his mother started.  He’s very insistent when he gets a notion in his head.”

“I know … he … tried.  I lost my temper.  He drove off and then Scott …” Derek wiped at his eyes.

John stood and stretched stiffly.  “I’m going to go get something to eat … you’ll stay?”

Derek nodded again as John moved toward the hallway.  “Sir …”

John paused at the door.

“I do love him.  I have for a long time,” Derek said softly.

“Good … be there for him because he’s going to need you now.”

Derek sank into the chair vacated by the sheriff and kept careful watch.  He was still there when John returned.  He was still there when the pack trooped in one at a time to nuzzle Stiles’ hand ever so gently.  He was still there when dawn broke on Christmas Eve.  He was still there when the heart he’d listened to carefully for hours shifted its beat and became stronger.  Derek sat up at that and gently shook the sheriff who was sleeping on the empty bed beside Stiles’.  Both men waited and finally, the amber eyes opened just a bit. 

“Stiles,” John said brokenly.

“Dad,” came the weak ghost of a voice.

The sheriff pressed a gentle kiss to the bandaged head and whispered back how much he loved his son.  Then he glanced over his shoulder so Stiles would know they weren’t alone.  The whisky-colored eyes widened slightly.  John watched as Derek walked like a sleepwalker until he was close enough to brush his fingers gently against Stiles’.  He left the room and found Scott McCall contorted in a chair, asleep.  He gave the scene a fond grin and shook Scott awake. 

“He’s awake,” The sheriff reported.

Scott’s eyes filled with tears.  “Is Derek --?”

John nodded.  “He’s with him now.  Give them a bit, ok?”

Scott nodded and rubbed more sleep out of his eyes.  He had to call the pack.

* * *

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice cracking at the end.  “I need you.”

Stiles tried to focus on Derek but he was really very tired.  Still, hearing those words made his heart jump and from the faint smile on Derek’s face, the werewolf had heard it as surely, as if he’d spoken.

“Just rest,” Derek murmured against his lover’s ear.  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Stiles slid back into the darkness but he wasn’t afraid this time.  He knew his wolf would keep watch.  He was safe and he was needed.  It was enough.

* * *

**December 24 (evening)**

Stiles awoke again a few times during the day but he gathered his strength and managed to come to that evening.  He stared.  The room was awash in light.  Christmas lights were strewn over every available surface along with garlands and a small tree bedecked in tiny ornaments and miniscule light strands.  Derek was wearing a pair of earmuffs with tiny wolf heads protruding from the ears.  Around his neck was the replica of the fourth Doctor’s scarf – although Scott had to explain who the hell the ‘Doctor’ was – and Stiles’ gift from this year was sitting on one of the side tables.  It was the little skating pond.

The entire pack had contributed to the effort, which had taken Stiles months to create.  A tiny Lydia was throwing snowballs at a small Jackson who was decked out in a winter version of his lacrosse uniform and catching them.  The sheriff and Scott’s mother sat on a bench watching the entire scene.  Scott was holding up Allison in a perfect straight-line lift.  Isaac, Boyd and Erica were doing a skating chain.  Peter was roasting marshmallows over a fire in a barrel near the pond (he’d suggested the scene himself in jest but Stiles had kept it much to Peter’s chagrin).  In the center, a pair spun in a circle around one another.  Himself and Stiles.

Derek had missed the significance of the figures entirely in his anger but now he saw and was moved by the thought put into the gift.  It wasn’t just from Stiles – it was from the pack.

Stiles was weak but the entire pack helped him by taking some of his pain away.  Stronger, Stiles enjoyed the presence of the pack.  He got what Derek meant now … pack was where you ran to in times of trouble.  He wasn’t a werewolf, but he felt the bond all the same.

As midnight drew close, the pack departed one by one until it was just Peter, Derek and Stiles’ dad.  Derek leaned over and kissed Stiles softly.  “I have a gift for you, Stiles.  I never wanted to feel again after the fire but with you … with you, I want to feel _everything_.  You have to stay awake or you’ll miss it, ok?  Peter will explain.” Derek kissed him and before he left the confused young man, he said, “Merry Christmas, Stiles.  I love you.”

Peter turned off the lights leaving the room bathed in the sparkling Christmas lights only.  He put several extra blankets over Stiles and assured John it was necessary.  Then he stood by the window and opened the blinds so that Stiles could see the moon and the star-sparkled night sky.  He looked over at Stiles.

“There is a legend about the night the Christ child was born.  When the angel descended to tell the shepherds the news, there were wolves nearby who saw the angel and heard its message.  The alpha was moved by the miracle and he longed to give the Child a gift.  The angel felt his desire and blessed the alpha and his pack with a voice.  The alpha called to his pack and they answered him.  The first wolfsong was heard that night across the land, spreading the news of the birth of Jesus,” Peter said solemnly.  “It is tradition for wolfpacks to recreate that song at midnight on Christmas Eve.  It was Derek’s favorite part of Christmas and one tradition neither of us have experienced since the fire.”  Peter opened the window letting the cold night air wash into the room.  The darkness was expectant.  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on the roof.”

Stiles and his father sat in the dark hospital room lit by only Christmas lights and from the distance they heard a soft howl growing louder and louder – the alpha wolf finding his voice for the first time.  Another wolf answered and then another and finally Stiles could hear the entire pack singing in harmony.  It echoed over Beacon Hills and sent chills down the spines of many a resident with its eerie beauty.  The sound faded gradually and John closed the window.  He looked back at Stiles who had fallen asleep as the notes drifted into silence.  He was smiling and dreaming of the werewolf he loved and all the Christmases to come.


End file.
